


You Can't Resist

by hectocotyle



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Asexual Character, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, Mind Control, Nonbinary Character, Sexual Assault, bad times for all involved, implied liquidmantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectocotyle/pseuds/hectocotyle
Summary: Mantis bites off more than he can chew.[For a solidmantis wish from the 2016 Xmas Supply Drop:"do whatever you want with them i just Crave that Content"]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrackenMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrackenMouth/gifts).



Snake can't remember what he came to this office to do, but he's pretty damn sure it wasn't supposed to involve dropping to his knees in front of Psycho Mantis and laying his head in his bony lap.

"You really do look just like him." Mantis slides his fingertips under Snake's chin, tilts it up with surprising gentleness. "Your mind even tastes like his, only less... flamboyant? Melodramatic? Take your pick."

Why is he not shooting this weirdo and moving on? Shit. His brain feels like it's full of static.

He dislodges Mantis's long fingers with a sharp twist of his head and takes a snap at them; Mantis whisks them out of the way just in time.

"And every bit as spirited, too," the looming psychic says, stroking his hair.

An intense and inexplicable urge to lean into the skeletal hand pulses in Snake's brain like a second heartbeat, and the sinews in his neck bulge out with the effort of resisting it. He bites down hard on his lip. Was the room always this hot?

"So strong-willed," Mantis says softly as he pets him. "It's about time someone put up a real fight against my mind control."

"You gonna kill me or just sit there complimenting me all night long?"

Mantis's eyes snap wide behind his mask's fire-orange lenses. He looks called out. Snake can't help snorting out a laugh.

Psychic fingers seize him by the throat, wrenching him up off his knees and suspending him in midair. He claws at the crushing grip, choking for air.

"Allow me to set the record straight," hisses Mantis. "All your innards are still in their proper places because the sole human being I have any respect for wishes it so." He lets go of Snake's throat, though invisible hands at his wrists and ankles keep holding him aloft. "And although Boss wants to finish the job himself, he did give me his express permission to  _warm you up_ for him."

As he speaks, another hand slips smoothly down Snake's abdomen to cup the bulge of his junk.

"What the fuck," he wheezes between hacking coughs.

Then the hand starts kneading him through his sneaking suit, and either Mantis is some kind of handjob god or he's doing some psychic aphrodisiac shit to Snake because he can't stop himself grating out a moan and bucking into that touch with all his strength.

"Who says it can't be both?" says Mantis, slouching lower into his seat, watching him writhe with an air of cool indifference.

A second hand joins in, phasing through the suit's fabric to thumb the tip of his pulsing, blood-thickened dick while the first slides down its length to tug very gently at the loose skin of his balls, and then the damn things are everywhere, squeezing his ass, teasing his nipples, shoving fingers in his mouth so drool dribbles freely down his chin.

"Close, are you? I can tell by that stupid look on your face."

His tone is weirdly fond, not that Snake has the mental presence to question it as he thrashes and snarls like some hormone-consumed animal. When he's maybe half a second from the point of no return, the sadistic bastard withdraws all his groping hands at once, and he barks out a hoarse cry of pain at the sudden absence of stimulation.

"How sad," says Mantis as he lets him collapse to the floor. "That even a man of your mental fortitude should be so easily reduced to his most primitive—"

Snake tackles him to the ground with brutal swiftness, kicks the chair aside with enough force to send it crashing into the wall and pins him flat on his back.

Mantis stares up at him in utter shock, and for a while he just stares back, panting harshly, battling the vicious impulse to flip him over and nail him into next week.

Confusion slowly clouds Mantis's gaze. <Eli?> he says, right into Snake's head, and his voice is small and scared. <Why are you...?>

Snake doesn't know who Eli is and doesn't have time to think about it. He might be able to keep himself from straight-up raping Mantis, but the lingering influence of his mind control is too strong to completely resist.

He paws at the front of Mantis's pants, can't find any obvious way to open them. With an impatient grunt, he digs in with his fingers—it takes him a couple of tries to find purchase on the tight leather—and his muscles bunch and ripple as he rips open a large gash. Mantis's dick flops out, already a little stiff and twitching.

As he works his own leaking dick out of his sneaking suit, he wonders vaguely how he hasn't been murdered yet. Mantis just lays there staring off to one side. Having some kind of episode, most likely. It'd explain why he thinks Snake is some guy named Eli, anyway. He straddles Mantis's scrawny hips and squeezes their dicks together in one fist.

Spread out under him, Mantis makes no move to stop him, his undersized chest rising and falling with his fast, shallow breathing.

"Fuck," Snake mutters.

He makes one last colossal effort to drag himself away from him, straining every muscle to its absolute limit. No matter what he tries, his body won't obey him.

Mantis shifts so the silky heat of his hard-on glides against Snake's. It's a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but it's enough to make Snake grab a thin shoulder to brace himself and start humping him into the floor.

About a minute in Mantis convulses for a couple of seconds then goes limp again, and it's not until Snake feels the guy's dick softening in his grip that he realizes what happened. He glances down as he ruts against him. It looks like his malnourished body was only able to produce a few pitiful little beads of cum, starkly visible where they fleck his dark outfit.

Snake hasn't finished yet, though, and the mind control is still going strong. He climbs off him and grabs his impossibly skinny legs, holding them straight up and pressing them close together so he can fuck his thighs. That was the plan, at least, but the thigh gap is so ridiculous that he has to migrate up toward his knees just to find a decent amount of pressure.

And, man, when he does find it, there go the very last ragtag remnants of his self-restraint. He slams his hips against the back of his legs, an inhuman growl rumbling low in his throat as he cums in long ribbons that slap down over Mantis's stomach and chest.

Dripping with sweat, he gasps a few times to get his breath back before carefully disentangling the two of them.

Seems like getting off did the trick: The fog in his head is dissipating fast, and he knows now that he was headed for the maintenance base where they're holding REX. And what happened to Meryl? He remembers meeting up with her, then the hypnosis taking hold of him, and that's about it. He'll have to contact her by codec once he's alone.

Right as he finishes fixing his sneaking suit, Mantis moves. Snake whips out his SOCOM and trains it on him, but all he does is roll onto his side and slowly curl up in a tight ball.

"Hey," he says gruffly.

Mantis trembles at the sound of his voice. <I'm okay, Eli....>

Yep, still off in his own little world. Whatever. Makes Snake's job easier.

<I'm okay, Eli,> Mantis says, more faintly this time. <I'm okay.> He repeats it over and over, like he's trying to convince himself more than Eli.

Sighing, Snake swaps out his SOCOM for his modified M9.

The dart plunges into Mantis's neck with a quiet _thp_. Guy's physically weak enough that the tranq dose might kill him anyway; in any case, it's out of Snake's hands now.

Telepathic whispers follow him out of the office and all the way to his hiding place behind a stack of crates in a storage room.

He has the feeling they'll still be following him long after he's left this whole ugly mess of a mission behind.

 


End file.
